


TFW Claire Redfield

by Dandybear



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, STARS family barbecue, Swearing all over the place, This was supposed to be a silly shipping fic and then my headcanons got in the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2329280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moira Burton didn't know she was hella gay for Claire Redfield until she met Claire Redfield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TFW Claire Redfield

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic of this pairing. Aw yisss.

Moira Burton was eighteen years old when she decided she was going to marry Claire Redfield and make her hers (maybe not in that order). It was an annual (and by annual, not at at all annual or even biannual) Burton and Redfield barbecue. She was eighteen, and like all eighteen year olds, hated school, the Nielson rating system, and American female clothing sizes. (Seriously, why did they cancel Pushing Daisies, and how is that a fucking size 6?)

 

Things Moira didn’t hate included, “cool stuff” which, when asked what that entailed would be a shrug and a sigh. It caused her father to throw his hands up in surrender and admit that he would never be cool.

 

A typical occurrence at the Burton household. Except that day she was expected to not be browsing DeviantArt in her room and actually interact with other humans. She dreaded the notion like picking a college.

 

Why? Because back in the eighties her dad had a mentor named Alan Redfield who taught him a whole bunch about life (or something) and they were friends for like fifteen years(Alan died in 1998). So much so that Alan wanted his son to be a pilot like Barry, and then her dad became the mentor to Alan’s son Chris in the nineties. They both quit and joined STARS and their team got eaten by zombies and stuff.

 

Long story short, they’re friends so the family needed to be friends.

 

“Polly, could you help me with the salad?” Her mom called from the kitchen.

 

“She’s upstairs on the phone with Morgan.”

 

Moira walked into the kitchen and stole a strawberry from its basket. Her mother made a noise.

 

“Don’t tell your sister, but I’m not fond of that Morgan.”

 

“Ma, nobody likes Morgan. Not even Morgan likes Morgan.”

 

“Then why would your sister date him.”

 

Shrug, “He’s doing environmental studies for a major, plays guitar, and has white boy dreads.”

 

Kathy made a face, “Moira Kelly Burton, I want you to swear to me that you won’t fall in love with some guitar playing hippie badboy.”

 

Moira made a sign over her chest, “Cross my heart, Ma.”

 

And then a motorcycle pulled up in front of the house.

 

Kathy wiped her hands on her apron and went to the front porch. Moira followed, curious. The rider who dismounted wore a leather jacket and riding chaps over white dress pants. She took her helmet off and Moira swore there were lens flares and disturbed birds as she tossed her red hair over her shoulder.

 

(She’s my cherry pie. Cool drink of water. Such a sweet surprise!)

 

Claire Redfield fit Moira’s definition of cool.

 

And her definition of smokin’ hot babe.

 

“Hey, Kathy,” She greeted Moira’s mom with a friendly hug, “Just in front of the house is okay, right? I don’t want to block the driveway.”

 

In Moira’s mind she said all of this while riding a flaming unicorn and playing a wicked bass solo. She was probably gawking and maybe ogling, which Claire noticed, and played off.

 

“You’re Po-” Headshake. “Moiiiiiraaaaaa?” Nod.

 

“You’re certainly a lot bigger than the last time I saw you.”

 

Moira wracked her brain for the last time she saw perfection.

 

“At the STARS family picnic.”

 

Nothing.

 

“You were like five.”

 

“Ah. Yeah, sorry. Nice to meet you now that I can remember things and stuff.”

 

Moira stuck her hand out like a big dumb nerd.

 

Claire shook it with the enthusiasm of a big dumb nerd.

 

(Nailed it.)

 

“Claire!”

 

Then her dad came and decided to be a total twatswat. He gave Claire a famous ‘Burton Bear Hug’. She laughed. There were sparkles. Her dad was speaking to her.

 

“Moira, can you go get your sister? She was supposed to get the corn from the basement.”

 

Trying to not look like a brainless mass, Moira exited. She tried to sashay, but it probably looked like she was stumbling. She took the stairs two at a time and stopped with a jump in front of her sister’s door. She hammered out their secret knock.

 

“Pol McCartney, you’re needed on stage.”

 

The door swung open. Polly was still holding her phone and her clothes looked a little askew.

 

“Please do not tell me you were sexting him.”

 

“I am not telling you anything.”

 

“Well, then do me a solid and come downstairs. Guests have started arriving.”

 

“One of our two guests.”

 

“Whatever, man, old people are weird. Go. If I have to socialise so do you.”

 

She followed Polly down the stairs with her hands on her shoulders like a conga line.

 

Just in time to see Claire Redfield taking her leather jacket off in the hall.

 

(I believe in miracles. Where are you from? You sexy thang. Sexy thang.)

 

Moira’s hands slipped down the material of Polly’s shirt. Her sister turned around to see her expression turn from sentience to mush. She followed Moira’s gaze, then looked between her sister and the older woman. Claire disappeared into the back yard in search of beer.

 

“Moira… are you eye scissoring Claire Redfield?”

 

“Guh.”

 

“Holy shit you are. Mo, are you gay?” She stage whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I found out literally five minutes ago.”

 

“Wow. It all makes sense now. This is your destiny. You are like, hard gay. Like, plaid wearing, cut your hair, listening to indie crooning and becoming a beat poet gay.” Her eyes widened, “Can I help with your coming out party?”

 

“Wait, slow down. I don’t know if I’m that gay. Maybe Claire’s just like… the hottest human being ever.”

 

They continued the conversation down into the basement to fetch the corn.

 

“So, to be clear, you didn’t see the sparkles or hear the rock the opera that follows Claire around?”

 

“No. She looks like a normal, twenty-something biker babe to me.”

 

“So you admit she’s a babe?”

 

“It’s a title. Like Babe Ruth.”

 

“Dude, that was a guy’s name.”

 

They each grabbed a handle on the large bucket filled with shucked corn and shuffled up the steps with it. Moira took the high ground and slowly walked backwards until her back pushed the pantry door open. It opened right into another human being. Moira squeaked and fumbled with the bucket, but Polly managed to adjust her end on time. The door was pulled open and Moira turned.

 

And saw the scariest pair of clear eyes she’d ever seen. It was like coming face to face with a predator. She wanted to freeze and maybe play dead or make loud noises. Anything to keep from being eaten.

 

“Let me help you with that.”

 

The eyes were attached to a woman with a low voice and hair the colour of ice tea. She lifted Moira’s end with one finger and hauled it up the remaining stairs.

 

Polly gave Moira an annoyed look as she dropped her end on the floor. The air felt tense with the strange woman there. She looked familiar. Before Moira could place it, her father came in.

 

“Jill! I see you’re getting reacquainted with my daughters. Girls, this is Jill Valentine. She was the explosives expert in STARS, Chris’s partner, and the reason you will never get turned into zombies.”

 

Now she remembered. Her dad’s old photograph of the STARS team. The woman with the beret in the front row. She looked a lot different now. Maybe the picture just didn’t accurately capture her presence.

 

She’s the one who went MIA (assumed KIA) years ago. Their dad went to the funeral.

 

“Nice to meet you again.” Polly said.

 

Moira copied her. She wanted to ask Jill Valentine about the tattoo on her chest or what dying felt like. Instead she rocked on her heels and looked to her dad for orders. He seemed to catch her unease.

 

“Moira, can you go outside and check on the grill?”

 

(Yes, thank you Dad.) She felt those eyes on her back all the way outside. Swinging open the screen door, and she could breathe again. There was a man built like a messy pile of bricks sitting on the back porch next to Claire. Moira pretended to busy herself while she snooped on them.

 

The man was classically handsome with a lantern jaw and squinty eyes. He and Claire shared enough features (eyes, nose, chin) to make their relation obvious. So this was the guy who was in the Air Force with her dad.

 

“Uncle Nick wasn’t too happy that you didn’t show.” Chris said to his sister.

 

“I’m not going to honour the man who made our childhoods hell. Not even so the rest of the family can pretend it’s all okay now that he’s dead.”

 

Woah, this was some heavy family stuff. Abort mission. She speed walked back to the screen door. Eek, Jill Valentine was coming outside. She smiled at Moira apologetically. Like she was aware that she looked like a monster and was very sorry about it. Moira stood to the side and watched as Jill wedged herself between the siblings and pulled them both into an embrace. It made Moira sigh. (Not two Redfields, three.)

 

Her sister was in the kitchen peeling potatoes and looking at her out of the corner of her eye. She smirked when she saw Moira. Moira gently flipped her sister off.

 

“Gay.” Polly mouthed at her.

 

\--

 

Moira spent the rest of the evening trying to get a second alone with Claire. She would be witty and talented and woo Claire with her knowledge of motorcycles and internet memes.

 

(She knew very little about motorcycles.)

 

Instead she was her father’s right hand, passing him tongs and plates as he barbecued and reminisced about the “good old days” before Raccoon City was a crater and they fled to Canada.

 

Moira was on autopilot, her thoughts somewhere more important.

 

(I’m totally legal. There is nothing wrong with our love. Not even the taboo of forbidden romance. Sure it’s frowned on, but it’s not like she’s old enough to be my mother. More like my babysitter. It’s fine. Besides, we’re both ladies and that’s less creepy for some reason. Like, if she was a thirty year old man, it might raise a few more eyebrows.)

 

“Hey Moira, can you turn those hot dogs?”

 

“SURE CAN DAD!”

 

Innocuous as fuck.

 

“Well, that’s everything. Table’s set. Let’s eat!”

 

Barry sat at one head of the table, Jill at the other. Moira had a mental sigh of relief at not being seated across from laser eyes. Instead she was seated next to Claire. Great, awesome, now to get through the meal without dropping her spaghetti.

 

(Knees weak palms are sweaty)

 

“So, you have family in Canada?” Polly asked.

 

“Our dad’s family lives in Montreal.” Claire said.

 

Moira watched her jaw twitch as she spoke through a mouthful of steak. She knew to avoid the topic and gave Polly a scream with her eyes. Danger. Avoid topic at all costs.

 

“Did you all go?”

 

“No, just me and Jill,” Chris spoke up, “We wanted to share the news of the engagement.”

 

“Oh, congratulations!” Kathy said.

 

“About time,” Barry said, “I knew from the moment you two laid eyes on each other.”

 

They exchanged weak smiles.

 

“I didn’t want to waste any time. I thought… When Jill was gone, if I had a second chance what would I do.”

 

They twined fingers on the table. Claire worried her lip. The silence in between topics stretched too long.

 

Nothing Moira could do would make the moment more uncomfortable.

 

“Did you know that breast milk comes from converted sweat glands?” She blurted out.

 

The table looked at her. She was a fucking idiot.

 

“Really? That’s awesome.” Jill looked fascinated.

 

Claire started giggling. Kathy was rubbing her temples. Polly shot her a confused look.

 

“So babies drink sweat?” Barry said.

 

“Well, and adults too, but that’s like… cow sweat so it’s different?”

 

He pulled his lips tight and nodded before taking a swig of his beer. Conversation began to flow more easily.

 

(Tension diffused like a fucking champ. And the crowd goes wild.)

 

“So Claire, how goes work at Terrasave?” Her mom asked.

 

Claire made a noise and finished her mouthful of corn before speaking.

 

“Well, those shitlords at Tricell refused to let a representative look at the lab areas. Which is a huge red flag, and just screams ‘hey guess who’s got a basement filled with zombie dogs’. We’re working on a court order, but I’m pretty sure the judge is in their pocket. Since we’re non-government we can’t technically force them to do anything, but I can pass on the knowledge to the proper authorities.” She pointed to the other end of the table.

 

“Hi, we’re the proper authorities.” Jill deadpanned.

 

“I, um, have a question,” Polly raised her hand, “Why are so many pharmaceutical companies interested in hazardous biological weapons. Like, that doesn’t seem like a good business model at all. Wouldn’t they make more money from actually selling medicine instead of stabbing bunny rabbits full of needles until the bunny rabbits eat people?”

 

There was a silence at the table. Polly ducked her head, and put a hand on her face, flustered.

 

“Um, that was dumb, sorry I asked.”

 

Jill burst out laughing. It sounded wrong. Mechanical, but a little hysterical. It was enough to be alarming.

 

“No, Polly. That was very smart. When I was a bunny rabbit getting stabbed full of needles I often asked myself the same question.”

 

“Jill is the only bunny rabbit that eats people that I’m aware of.” Claire added.

 

As if that made this conversation any less creepy. The thought would keep Moira up. She thought of bioterror as something foreign, distant, and almost fantastic. Like, you would be safe from it at home and they might experiment on animals or stuff in test tubes, but not real people. Stuff like that didn’t happen in North America.

 

Maybe that’s why her dad didn’t like talking about it.

 

Moira felt awful for avoiding Jill and her clear, dead eyes. She looked up and met the woman’s gaze. Instead of hunger she saw pain, but in that pain there was intensity. She was still frightening. Now Moira found it inspiring.

 

“Salamanders, reptiles, moths, bats, uhhh, fucking spiders--”

 

“Giant ones!”

 

“Never rats though. It’s super weird because humans and rats have very similar physiology to humans, and yet… no zombie rats. I’ve seen them rolling in T-Virus and then go back to their happy rat lives.”

 

“Can we please change the subject?” Her mom was looking a little nauseous.

 

“We’ve become those people.” Jill said.

 

Claire smiled, “Can’t leave work at work.”

 

“It kinda consumes your life, one way or another.” Chris added.

 

They shared bitter laughter. Moira filed away that to impress Claire Redfield she had to become a hardened survivor who made jokes about cannibalism and death. Maybe she should take up smoking? Nah, that could backfire.

 

“So Moira, have you decided on what you’re going to school for?” Claire was speaking to her.

 

Claire was asking her what she wanted to do with her life. (Screeeeeeee.)

 

“Oh yeah, I’m uh, I’m exploring my options. Thought of maybe going to school in the states. Did the SATs and everything so I qualify. I just don’t wanna blow a bunch of money without knowing what I want. Y’know?”

 

“Don’t I know it. I still attend college every now and then.”

 

“Oh yeah. What’s your major?”

 

“I have a bachelor’s in Child Psychology, a certificate in Mechanics, and I’m working on Masters in Economics.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“And I’m only about thirty grand in debt.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“So, yeah, I’d recommend college. Unless you wanna end up like one of these jarheads.” She gestured with her thumb to the end of the table.

 

“I had a full ride to Juilliard for being a piano virtuoso or whatever, but instead I stole cars and ended up at the military instead. Stay in school kids. Otherwise you will fight zombies and die. Don’t drop out for drugs. Don’t drop out with bad grades. Just… stay in school.”

 

Polly was giving Jill a concerned look. Chris nodded sagely. Kathy made an uncomfortable cough. This was probably one of the most consistently untimely meals Moira had ever had.

 

She was sure her mother was glaring daggers at her father for inviting his weird friends.

 

“I was thinking of taking a bunch of first year stuff at a community college close to home to save money until I know what I wanna do. I wanna effect the world in a positive way though.”

 

“Well, we’re always looking for new recruits at Terrasave. You’re sixty percent less likely of dying that if you join the BSAA.”

 

“Our new recruits have a bad mortality rate.” Chris sighed.

 

Claire grabbed Moira’s hand. Moira’s heart escalated. She blushed. Senpai was noticing her. Claire looked deeply into her eyes. She pulled out a pen. The pen rasps against the back of Moira’s hand.

 

“This is the number of our local recruiter. Her name is Elaine. She can send you some brochures if you’re interested.”

 

Moira didn’t really hear this. Instead she heard.

 

(Girl you’re my angel, you’re my darlin’ angel. Closer than my briefs you are to me, Baby.)

 

“Yeah, I’m totally interested.”

 

(First rule of flirting. Lie. Lie all the time.)

 

Polly was watching in smug amusement. Other portions of the table had broken off into their own conversations. Moira just ran her finger over the loopy lettering. Claire had given her a phone number. They were going to get married.

 

Claire was still talking about the nuances of working in a Non-Government Organization and how delicate her line of work was. At the other end of the table Polly and Jill exchanged a look before both smirking into their beers.

 

The rest of the evening went uneventfully. Barry and Chris arm wrestled over who would do the dishes. (Barry “won”.) Jill explained the significance of the floral chest piece.

 

“Marigolds are typically used in art depicting the Day of the Dead. The red flowers are called Stairway of the Sun and the Progenitor Virus was extracted from it. Basically, it’s a death bouquet. I got it to cover up some ugly mind control scars.”

 

She said the entire thing deadpan. Moira was beginning to wonder if the woman was capable of multiple tones. Either way, it was a freaking sweet tattoo and she wanted ten. Her mother caught the wistful look in her eyes and pursed her lips.

 

Polly pulled out her wrist to reveal the little music note she got on her nineteenth birthday.

 

“Band geek pride.”

 

Claire pushed up her sleeves to reveal tattoos from the bicep up. There was a tasteless(tasteful?) zombie pin up taking the whole right shoulder. Underneath there were faint bite mark scars that gave Moira pause.

 

“Biker girl with tattoos, stereotype right?”

 

“I think all that’s left is being a lesbian.” Moira laughed.

 

She caught the glance between Jill and Claire. Claire nodded, “That’s half right.”

 

Moira tried to keep a poker face as she did an internal happy dance. Claire liked girls. Moira liked Claire. Things were going places.

 

Unfortunately, so were their guests.

 

“Hey, we’ve still got a five hour drive back home. It’s time we all pile in and stock up on coffee.” Chris said from the door. He had a little wet spot on his abdomen from washing dishes.

 

“Yeah, okay, I just gotta put my bike on the roof rack.” Claire said.

 

She brushed her hands on her knees as she stood. Kathy got up with the insistence of sending their guests home with some left overs. They politely declined. Jill managed to slink away without a word. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her talking to Barry in the kitchen. His shoulders shook with laughter or grief as he rested a hand on her wrist.

 

They all met in the hallway. It was short work for the Redfields to get Claire’s motorcycle securely attached to their Range Rover.

 

“Thanks again for having us.”

 

“Oh it was our pleasure, call if you’re ever in the neighbourhood.”

 

They exchanged pleasantries and quick hugs. Moira felt her heart hammering in her chest as she (a little too eagerly) pulled Claire in for a hug. It felt… right. Their curves smooshed together and Claire smelled like leather and fresh air and mens’ deodorant. The hug extended the appropriately friendly time limit. They pulled away rather quickly and averted each other’s gaze. Then Chris tried to crush her spine in a bear hug.

 

With one last wave, the Redfield (and Valentine) clan piled into the SUV and drove off. The Burtons then headed back inside.

 

“Dad. You all didn’t survive by not getting bitten. You just didn’t get infected the same way other people do, right?”

 

Her father gawked at her.

 

“All of you have bite or scratch scars.”

 

“Yeah, natural antibodies I guess. Good observation, kiddo. Don’t let anyone know, okay?”

 

She and Polly held up their pinkie fingers to swear.

 

“Moira’s a lesbian!” Polly said.

 

“Pol! Why must you always steal my thunder?”

 

Her dad started crying. Moira felt a moment of panic. He clasped a big hand on her shoulder.

 

“I always knew you were gonna carry on the Burton tradition of being a total pussy hound.”

 

“Barry!”

 

“Dad!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So, Barry’s daughter totally wants to fuck you.”

 

Claire sputtered from the passenger seat. Chris shoulder checked before looking over to her to agree.

 

“Yeah, Moira was totally giving off vibes.”

 

“Is she even legal?!”

 

“If not now then soon. Looking at colleges, remember?”

 

Claire stared at the road ahead as she slipped the Supertramp CD into the disk player. Sounds of the playground kept her thoughts from going into overdrive.

 

“You gonna get your beak wet?”

 

Jill was on her fifth beer. Claire could smell how close she was leaning and tried studiously to ignore her.

 

“She has a tongue piercing.”

 

Claire began to sweat.

 

 


End file.
